some of this is true i have begun drawing again. i have been drawing for as long as i can remember. it has lived in my hands for a very long time now. it is old, and out of practice, and undeveloped, but it is mine. another voice, hoarse and unsure. i feel how it once felt. something to do with my hands in class, when i could no longer make them laugh. when they said to be quiet and i was young and bursting at the seams. it is hard to be young. i remember the journey of a doodle. familiar shapes become unfamiliar. slowly over time, but quickly too, in ways that are hard to describe. like sliding, but in your brain, and with a pencil. tactility and movement. the sliding became practiced, and i could call on basic forms. humanity has a knack for seeing faces, and that is wonderful. i approximate them, their curves marked by the aching in my hand, and my tired fingers. those are my marks. i was here, in a small way, and this can travel through time. i got older, and my hands grew sti...
the strange ravings of a dusty old wizard